


i found peace in your violence (i'm at one with the silence)

by thylionheart



Series: if my heart was a house, you'd be home [14]
Category: A Wrinkle in Time (2018), Kairos (O'Keefe) Series - Madeleine L'Engle
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Cigarettes, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Middle School, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Physical Abuse, Post-Movie, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thylionheart/pseuds/thylionheart
Summary: One phone call has disastrous consequences.





	i found peace in your violence (i'm at one with the silence)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been planning this one for a while; I actually started writing it back in December. There were several specific aspects of canon that I knew I needed to incorporate. All I'll really say is...things are about to change. In multiple ways.
> 
> One detail, though—I chose Meg’s middle name in this installment based on her locket in the movie, which has the initials MLM on the outside. I’m guessing they chose the L as a reference to Madeleine L’Engle (ML), but I decided to have Kate name Meg after her good friend Dr. Louise. 
> 
> Also, I'm participating in Camp NaNoWriMo, so I won't be updating for at least a month while I spend July focusing on my original story.
> 
> The title is from Silence by Marshmello ft. Khalid.

* * *

_"Calvin's mother first," Meg whispered to the Medium._

_The globe became hazy, cloudy, then shadows began to solidify, to clarify, and they were looking into an untidy kitchen with a sink full of unwashed dishes. In front of the sink stood an unkempt woman with gray hair stringing about her face. Her mouth was open and Meg could see the toothless gums and it seemed that she could almost hear her screaming at two small children who were standing by her. Then she grabbed a long wooden spoon from the sink and began whacking one of the children._

_"Oh, dear—" the Medium murmured, and the picture began to dissolve. "I didn't really—"_

_"It's all right," Calvin said in a low voice. "I think I'd rather you knew."_

_A Wrinkle In Time_ (6.96)

* * *

The first of March brought with it brighter days and warmer nights, a warmth that stuck between the wooden slats and rafters in the attic. Armed with the knowledge that hot air rises, Meg had opened her window to let in cooler air and then spent the evening on the floor of her bedroom, reclining on her pillows and watching _Brain Games_ on her phone.

Her homework lay atop her coffee table, open but untouched; she preferred to spend her Friday nights relaxing, anyway. If Calvin had been over, he would’ve charmed her into at least starting their history research assignment. But, in anticipation of his mother returning from her latest business trip that afternoon, he had gone home straight after school.

Rosie was curled up in the crook of Meg’s knees; she felt the cat shift and stretch against her bare legs. Meg reached over and scratched the top of Rosie’s head. While her attention was diverted away from her show, her phone chirruped with Calvin’s text tone. Confusion washed over her as she glanced back at her cell. Calvin had texted her goodnight around eleven, over an hour ago. Maybe he couldn’t sleep?

Opening the text, it took Meg a second to process her boyfriend’s words.

_I’m here. At your place. Your dad just picked me up. Didn’t wanna wake you.. see you in the morning xx_

Meg’s heart stopped. What had happened? Why had he called her dad?

She scrambled to her feet—earning an indignant meow from Rosie in the process—threw on her brown-knit cardigan in lieu of changing out of her pajamas, and hurried downstairs.

Voices whispered in the kitchen. Meg followed them, praying that Mrs. O’Keefe‘s trip had been extended. But what she saw when she entered the kitchen dashed all her hopes.

Calvin was sitting on the island, the lab’s first aid kit next to him and a bag of ice pressed to his face. The door to the medicine cupboard was wide open and her father had a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol PM in his hand. He poured two pills into his palm, then took a glass of water and handed them both to Calvin. Her boyfriend set down the ice to take them. Meg gasped.

The left side of his face was red and bruised. His eye was nearly swollen shut.

“Oh, Cal!”

Both he and her father turned at her cry. Calvin’s un-swollen eye widened in surprise.

“Meg…”

He set aside the water and pills and clambered off the island as she rushed toward him. Before Meg reached him a sharp, sour scent filled her lungs and she recoiled, even as her hands reached forward to grasp his arms.

“You—you smell like cigarettes.”

“I thought you were asleep,” was all Calvin said in reply.

“Why do you smell like cigarettes? What happened to your face? Did your dad come back? Why—”

“Megatron.” Her father’s voice was firm but gentle. “Take a breath. I’ll explain. Calvin, take the pills, then put on some clean clothes. I’ll put your dirty clothes in the wash when you’re done with them.”

Calvin nodded. He squeezed Meg’s hand and gave her an apologetic frown. After swallowing his meds he left the kitchen. It took all her willpower not to run after him.

Once Calvin was gone, Meg faced her father. “What happened? Who hurt him? Was he smoking?”

Her dad put away the medicine, cleaned up the counter, and returned the first aid kit to the lab. It appeared to Meg that he was stalling. Finally, nearly two minutes later, he guided her to the breakfast table where they both sat down. Meg’s leg bounced as anxiety flooded her blood.

“Calvin wasn’t the one smoking,” her father began. “His mother was.”

Meg scrunched up her nose. “What? I didn’t know she smoked. He…he never told me…”

“It’s a recent development. A habit she kicked before he was born that she’s picked up again. Now that her husband’s gone and…she just got demoted.”

“Demoted?” Meg’s heart sank. Branwen O’Keefe’s frequent business trips had meant that Calvin could stay at the Murry home for days upon days at a time. But if she had been demoted… “What does that mean for Calvin?”

Her dad rubbed his beard. The action somehow aged him. “He hasn’t said. The only other thing he’s told me is that…his mother is the one who hurt him.”

“What?” Meg jerked to her feet. “His _mom_? But—he’s never—she’s never—has she?”

“She has,” Calvin spoke from behind her. She whirled around and saw him leaning against the counter. The ice pack was pressed to his face once more and he had already changed into clean pajamas.

Hot tears pricked in Meg’s eyes. “She _has_? How could you not tell me?”

“Meg—”

“How _could_ you?”

She knew she was being hypocritical; she hadn’t told Calvin about Tristan’s bullying, either. But in that moment, as anger and fear overwhelmed her, she didn’t care. This was far weightier than a simple bully.

“I—I thought you were safe! You let me think you were _safe_!”

Calvin said nothing. He only stared at the floor.

Her father stood. “Meg, that’s enough.”

She ignored him. In fact, her voice grew louder. “I thought that with your father gone, you wouldn’t get hurt again! Has your mother been hurting you this entire time?”

“No.”

“Then when? How? Why didn’t you tell me? After all this time, all we’ve been through, all we’ve done to _protect_ you—and you hide this from me? How could you not tell me!”

“Margaret Louisa!” A new voice sounded from the kitchen doorway. Her mother stood by the china cabinet. “Stop shouting this instant! It is one in the morning. You are going to wake the entire neighborhood, not to mention your brother.” Tugging her green silk robe around herself, she walked up to Calvin and checked his injury. “Oh, honey. I would have made you cocoa if you had said you were hurt over the phone. Do you want some now? I’ll even make it over the Bunsen burner.”

“Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

Meg stamped her foot. “But Mom—!”

The look her mother gave her quickly shut her up. “Go to your room. This is the last thing Calvin needs right now.”

Neither Meg nor Calvin looked at each other as she stormed out of the kitchen. Her father followed her. Once in the attic, he closed the door behind them and crossed his arms.

“I am very disappointed in you,” he began in a low voice. “I did not expect this reaction from you.”

Whenever Meg’s father scolded her, latent feelings of hurt and resentment always surged to the surface. What right did he have to reprimand her? For four years, her mother had been the judge and jury of the household. Even though her father had been home for half a year now, Meg still wasn’t used to him acting in a position of authority over her.

So in response, she snapped, “How _else_ am I supposed to react? He didn’t tell me—”

“You’re right. He didn’t, and that was wrong of him. But he didn’t come here so that you could yell at him. He already got enough of that tonight thanks to his mother. He came here because he needed comfort. He needed to feel safe. You didn’t give him either. Words can hurt more than bruises, Meg. You forgot that.”

With that, her father left.

* * *

The sharp chill of the ice pack against his cheek made Calvin shiver. His skin hadn't yet numbed to the cold, though he wished it had. The left side of his face still throbbed; the vision in his swollen eye was blurry and unbidden tears flowed. Some of those tears, however, were not because of his wound. The betrayal that had saturated Meg's voice echoed in his mind, weighing on his heart. And it was all his fault. 

“You know that you should have told us that your mother has abused you before," Dr. Kate said. She and her husband sat across the table from Calvin, gazing at him with grave frowns. Three steaming mugs of cocoa rested before them.

A lump formed in Calvin’s throat. He switched the ice pack to his other hand and wrapped his frozen fingers around his mug. “Yes, ma’am.”

Despite her reproach, her voice was soft. “Why didn’t you?”

Calvin didn’t know how to explain, so he sat in silence for a minute. The Drs. Murry waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

“Growing up…I didn’t think it was wrong of her to do it. I didn’t like it, of course I didn’t, but I thought it was something everyone’s mom did. And she…she made me feel like I deserved it. By the time I learned that it was wrong, it had been years since she’d hurt me. I wasn’t afraid that it would happen again, because she would hardly acknowledge my existence anymore, much less hurt me. And my dad’s abuse…overshadowed hers, I guess, both while she was still hurting me and after. When put side-by-side with what he would do and say, anything she did paled in comparison. Maybe she would ignore me, but I still always considered her the nicer one. The safer one. In a way, it…made me forget the stuff she used to do.”

Dr. Alex leaned across the table and took ahold of his hand, giving it a squeeze. “What did she used to do, son?”

Calvin blinked away tears before replying. “Before, um, she finished her online MBA, she spent a lot more time at home. She was always home before my dad and didn’t travel at all. I was little and…dependent, I guess, and she had no patience for me. So she…she would hit me with a wooden spoon whenever she got mad. Like her twisted version of spanking, but on my back and my arms. If I didn’t pick up my toys, if I made a mess, if I didn’t finish my chores before dinner, she’d hit me. Sometimes she left bruises. Sometimes she didn’t. But it always hurt, and she’d always yell at me and tell me that I…I should know better than to act like a nuisance. I didn’t even know what a nuisance was back then.”

"You were only a child," said Dr. Kate. "You still are. It is her responsibility as a mother to care for and love you. How she's treated you, both now and in the past, is not love, Calvin. It is not safety. And it is never warranted. You did and do not deserve this. Alright?"

Nodding, Calvin choked out, "I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I-I should've told Meg…" His voice cracked. "I'm sorry—I've hurt her, I'm so sorry—"

Dr. Alex gave his hand another firm squeeze. "We forgive you. But as for not telling Meg, that is between you and her. You need to go talk with her. And you need to do it tonight."

* * *

_Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Beryllium. Boron. Carbon. Nitrogen._

Meg squeezed her eyes shut and rolled over in her bed, trying to focus on the rhythmic recital of elements instead of the fury and fear ripping her stomach to shreds. All she wanted was to fall asleep. If she was asleep, she couldn't think about Calvin or his bruises or his lies or his mother—

_Oxygen. Fluorine. Neon. Sodium. Magnesium. Aluminum. Silicon. Phosphorus. Chlorine—no, Sulfur, then Chlorine…_

Why had he lied to her? It didn't make sense. She knew about his father; how was his mother's abuse any different? Did he not trust her like she thought he did?

_Stop. Focus. After Chlorine is Argon, then Potassium. Calcium. Scandium. Titanium. Vanadium—_

A knock sounded at her door. Despite the night's heat, Meg had stolen under her quilt, more for the sense of security it provided than for its warmth. Now, she tugged the quilt over her head and hoped that whoever it was would leave her alone.

The door creaked open and footsteps make their way to her bed. Her mom, she assumed, here to scold her for yelling at Calvin. The bed sank as the person sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry.”

Meg stiffened. It was Calvin.

“It’s past midnight,” she whispered. She stayed beneath the quilt. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Your dad sent me up. He’s probably sitting in the stairwell. I left the door open.”

A silent minute passed.

“I’m really sorry, Meg.” Calvin’s voice shook ever so slightly. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Meg almost let out a dry laugh. But she didn’t. “We do that a lot, don’t we.”

“Seems like it.”

“What happened to ‘don’t worry about my worrying’? What happened to not bottling stuff up and hiding it from each other?”

“I didn’t think…it’s been years. Years and years. I didn’t think she’d ever do it again. I didn’t think there was anything for you to worry about. Obviously, I was wrong.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “She…um, she used to beat my back and arms whenever she got angry with me. With one of those heavy, thick-handled wooden spoons. I hated that spoon. But she stopped when she started traveling for work. That was around—”

“Fourth grade,” Meg finished quietly. Her throat burned. “You used to wear long sleeves under your T-shirts all the time, even during gym class and summer. But you stopped at the beginning of fourth grade.”

“You noticed that?”

“Yeah. But I never thought…I just thought it was some, I dunno, odd fashion choice. Like how Dahlia Cho used to wear puffy vests every day until, like, sixth grade.”

She could hear a wry smile in his voice. “I forgot about that.”

Another quiet spell.

“Nutmeg…”

It was so, so hard to feel mad at him when he called her that. It was less the name itself—she still thought it was incredibly kitschy—and more the way he said it; like she was the most precious thing in his world.

“I’m really so, so sorry. If I could go back in time and tell you, I would.”

She didn’t reply.

There was a _click_ ; through the quilt shone a new light. He’d switched on her bedside lamp.

“Please look at me, Meg. Please.”

Meg swallowed hard, then pulled down the quilt and looked at Calvin. Without her glasses, she had to squint to make out any details. He no longer had the ice pack on hand. At the sight of the fresh crimson bruises on his face and his puffy eye, tears fell silently down her cheeks. She brushed them away before Calvin could.

She sat up, keeping him at arm’s length. Part of her ached to touch him, but she still felt a twinge of betrayal. Touch was important to Meg, and there was nothing she loathed more than being touched by someone who she felt had betrayed her. Even Calvin.

He knew. One night, two months ago, Meg had awoken from a nightmare, run downstairs, and knocked at Calvin's door. He'd opened it to find her half-asleep and sobbing. Once settled together on the couch, he had stroked her hair and held her tight as she told him about her dream. In her it, she’d relived the moment when her father had chosen to abandon Charles Wallace on Camazotz. Meg had confessed to Calvin through tears that, even though she’d spent four years aching to feel her father's touch, his attempts at soothing caresses whilst trying to tesser home had felt more like fire searing her skin. So she had pushed him away.

Meg looked at Calvin out of the corner of her eye. “What happened?”

Calvin pursed his lips. “Remember how I told Principal Jenkins about my dad leaving?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, um…” Shifting, he cast his eyes downward. “Apparently, he called my mom’s job. He wanted to know how often my mom was gone on business trips. I guess she hadn’t told her boss about my dad leaving, so she got demoted. Her boss thought she was doing my mom a favor, ‘cause the position she was demoted to has almost the same pay and, like, half the travel. But my mom got so angry. She’s been trying to climb the ranks for a long time, so this demotion was a huge step backward for her. And she…blamed me. Because I told Mr. Jenkins.”

Panic tightened Meg’s chest. “Does she know about you staying here?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t mention you guys at all. I guess Mr. Jenkins didn’t tell her boss.”

Meg’s quilt still covered her from her waist to her toes; she traced the geometric patterns that blanketed her knee. “Good.”

Silence stretched between them for half a minute. Then, Calvin asked, “Have you ever had it where…someone’s bullied you before, but because of Elle and Tristan, you forgot about it?”

“Don’t make this about that," replied Meg hotly.

“I’m just using an analogy, I’m not…I don’t actually wanna talk about that, I just wanna help you understand.”

“I mean…I guess.” She took a minute to really think about it. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. Last year, Molly Abramson called me, um…a ‘repulsive little toad’.”

“I’m sorry. At the time, it hurt, right?”

“Obviously.”

“But you forgot about it.”

“I see where you’re going with this, but that’s completely different! Molly is just a classmate and I don’t even share any classes with her this year, but your mom—she’s your _mom_ , how could you—”

“Meg, I’ve spent more time with your mom in the past six months than I’ve spent with my own mother in two years. Maybe even three. It was always just me and my dad. Days and days and weeks and weeks of just me and my dad. Whenever it was only me and my mom in the house, I would always feel so much safer, because by then all my mom would do is ignore me. Up until I came here…I never knew what it was like to be actually, truly _safe_.”

Tears stuck in Meg's throat. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached forward and grasped Calvin’s hand. He took a sharp breath at her touch; when he exhaled, it was a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” said Meg. “It was cruel of me.”

“You were right. I should’ve told you.”

“Right doesn’t mean kind. I wasn’t kind. After…after your dad left, I promised myself that I’d always try and be a source of comfort and light for you. But earlier, I failed. You needed comfort, and I didn’t comfort you. I didn’t help you feel safe. I’m sorry, Cal.”

Calvin squeezed his good eye shut for a moment, then met her gaze again. He bowed his head close to hers.

“I always feel safe with you,” he murmured. “Always.”

Their noses bumped together.

“I am still mad at you,” Meg whispered.

“I know.”

She kissed him first. Her fingers curled around his neck and his hands settled on her waist. Their kisses were slow but aching, charged with an odd tension; both were on the verge of breaking down crying. It made it hard to breathe. Yet Meg still clung to Calvin, and he to her.

Slowly, mouth pressed to his, Meg reclined against her pillows, pulling Calvin down with her until all that separated them was the quilt. His heartbeat thrummed beneath her fingertips.

“Meg…” Calvin murmured between kisses. “Meg, I should go. Your dad…”

She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to crawl under her quilt with her and hold her, and her him. She wanted to know for certain where he was, to know for certain that he was safe. That’s all she wanted. To fall asleep in his arms, and nothing more.

But Meg knew her father wouldn’t let them. Not alone up in the attic. He’d assume that nothing more meant something more, and despite the brief exception he had made, Calvin was still not allowed in her room after bedtime.

They both sat up. Before Calvin could stand, Meg grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Stay home tomorrow. Please, Cal, promise me you’ll stay home.”

He looked at her sadly. “I can’t promise that, Meg. But I promise that whatever the safest option is, I’ll take it.”

Meg wanted to yell at him again, to shout that her home, _their_ home, was obviously—always—the safest option. But she knew that wasn’t true. Him staying here tomorrow might anger his mother, making the Murry home, while a safe haven, the unsafe choice.

Calvin left the attic. Two sets of footsteps receded down the stairs.

Meg couldn’t breathe. It was as if with his departure Calvin had taken all the air from her lungs. Her shoulders shook and she tried to take a breath, but she couldn’t hold back her sobs any longer. She wrapped herself in her quilt, curled up into a ball, and bawled.

He wasn’t safe. Her best friend, her Calvin. She had thought that his mother was only neglectful, not abusive. As much as his mother’s apathy had hurt Calvin, it had allowed him the freedom to live at the Murry home and had kept him out of harm’s way. But now…nothing was for certain. Was this a one-time thing, born out of the anger of having been demoted? Or was this the promise of a new normal?

Meg didn’t hear her door open or a new, lighter set of footsteps pad across the room. But she did feel a shift in the air and a familiar presence glide over her.

Charles Wallace.

Her brother climbed onto her bed and under her covers. He said nothing, but simply wrapped his small arms around her and patted her braids. Meg hated to cry so hard in front of her little brother, yet she couldn’t help but sob loudly, so loudly that she wouldn’t be surprised if her parents and Calvin could hear all the way downstairs.

Meg didn’t know how long she cried in Charles Wallace’s embrace. Eventually, exhaustion settled over her like a heavy blanket, and she fell asleep.

* * *

Light was peeking through the curtains as Calvin tiptoed across the attic. He could barely make out the slumbering forms of Meg and Charles Wallace on the bed. Outside, the Murry’s Subaru hummed to life thanks to Dr. Alex, who had told Calvin two minutes ago that he would be waiting for him in the car.

Meg’s arms were around her little brother. A scowl scrunched her features and a tear still sat in the corner of her eye. Sadness twinged Calvin’s heart at the sight. He sat on the edge of her bed, leaned over Charles Wallace, and kissed her temple. Though she didn’t move, she made a small noise that sounded like a sleepy moan. He pressed his lips to hers, light as a feather.

“I’m sorry, Meg,” Calvin whispered. “I love you.”

When he pulled away, he realized that Charles Wallace was awake. The small boy’s eyes gazed up at him, calm but sad.

“You’re going back.” There was no question in Charles Wallace’s voice.

“Yeah,” replied Calvin. “I’m sorry.”

Charles Wallace took hold of his hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry. You’ll be home again sooner than you think.”

Calvin returned the squeeze, a tiny smile on his face. He knew better than to doubt him. “Love you, bud.”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

Meg woke up with a dull headache. Suppressing a groan, she gingerly untangled herself from Charles Wallace and crawled out of bed. The red letters of her alarm clock told her the time: 8:26 AM.

When she passed by Calvin’s bedroom door on the second floor, she cracked it open and peered inside. The bed was empty and neatly made. The sight filled her with dread, but she inhaled deeply and allowed herself to hope that he was already downstairs.

But she didn't find Calvin in the living room. She didn't find him in the first-floor study or the dining room, and the only person in the kitchen was her mother, standing at the stove.

“Morning, Meglet,” her mother greeted her. “You’re just in time for a liverwurst and tomato omelet. Your favorite.”

Meg’s stomach growled. She sat at the island and eyed the omelet as her mother moved it from the pan to a plate. The moment it was in front of her, however, her appetite waned.

“Where’s Calvin?” Meg asked quietly, though she knew the answer.

Her mom gave her a sympathetic frown. “Dad took him back to his house about two hours ago.”

Queasiness tied Meg’s stomach into knots. She pushed her plate away. Sleep had chased away all her anger toward Calvin and replaced it with anxiety. What if Mrs. O’Keefe knew that Calvin had left and hurt him even more? What if she found out about him living at the Murry home and forbade him from returning? Or what if she—

Her mother interrupted her spiral. “So…Calvin mentioned that you two made up last night. Was that your first big fight?”

It took Meg a second to compose her thoughts. “No. I mean…we’ve argued before, and disagreed before, but we’ve never really fought. And I don’t think we fought last night. Not really.”

Arching a single eyebrow, her mother gave her a look that said, _Oh, really now?_

“It’s just—I yelled at him, but he didn’t yell back. He didn’t even really say anything, not until later. I tried to start a fight, I guess. He just didn’t indulge me.”

“He waited until you were calmer. Smart boy. Oftentimes, talking before everyone has regained a level-head does more harm than good. Still, I’d at least call this your first big conflict, even if the fighting was one-sided.”

Meg picked at her nails and tried not to feel indignant.

“Are you still angry at him?” her mother asked softly.

“No. I’m just…scared.”

After switching off the stove and moving the pan to a cool burner, her mother skirted the island and wrapped her daughter in a tight hug. Meg took a deep breath, drinking in her mom’s shea butter perfume and letting herself to enjoy a moment of peace and comfort.

The side door to the kitchen, the one that led to the lab, creaked opened. Meg jolted out of her mother’s embrace to see who it was. Her father stepped inside; then, Calvin.

With a quiet gasp, Meg stood and ran to Calvin, throwing her arms around his neck. He returned the hug so firmly that her feet lifted off the floor.

“Oh, you’re home,” she breathed in relief. But that breath caught in her throat when she saw how dark and ugly his bruises had grown overnight. His left eye was still swollen shut. Thank heavens it was Saturday—but even so, they’d still be there on Monday.

Calvin read her expression like she had a neon sign on her forehead. “Yeah. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell everyone.”

He sounded so tired and so sad. Meg wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat and the sound made her sigh.

“I’m not mad,” whispered Meg. “Not at you, not anymore. I promise.”

Calvin buried his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Cal.”

“Branwen wasn’t home,” her father told her mother as she handed him a cup of coffee. “We waited for a couple hours to see if she’d come back, but she didn’t. Calvin left a note saying that he’s at a study group for when she does.”

Both Meg and her mother made faces of confusion.

“Is she at work?” Meg asked Calvin. “You said she’d still be traveling, right? Just shorter trips?”

He shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. She might be working overtime at the firm or she might be on a shorter trip. But I don’t think so. I think she’s at her boyfriend’s place. Wherever that may be. She didn’t take her suitcase, or her briefcase, or even the car, so someone must’ve picked her up. She didn’t leave a note. It’s not like she’s ever left a note before, though.”

“We’re going back this evening to check.” Meg’s father took a long sip of coffee. “If she’s home, Calvin will sleep there tonight. If she’s still not home by 10 PM, then I’ll pick him up and he’ll stay here.”

A deep frown tugged at Meg’s mouth. She didn’t want him to go back, not at all. Calvin saw her face fall and brushed a hand through her hair. 

“It’s the safest option,” he murmured.

“Is it?” Meg looked around at her parents. “Is it really? Sending him back to that—that _place_?”

“It’s best to test the waters before diving in,” her mother told her. “If we overreact and Calvin doesn’t go back, Mrs. O’Keefe’s temper may flare more and he will be in more danger than he was.”

Her phrasing made Meg’s own temper flare. “ _Overreact_? She gave him a black eye!”

“I didn’t…” Her mother sighed. “I’m sorry. Poor choice of words on my part. I simply meant that we need to appropriately gauge the level of danger and act accordingly.”

Calvin bowed his head close to Meg’s. “Last night might’ve just been an anomaly.”

Even as melancholy as he was, he still managed to have a small bit of hope in his voice. But Meg had no such hope. She touched his cheek, just under his right eye, where there was a thin white scar, imperceptible unless someone knew it was there.

Meg’s mother walked over to them and placed her hands on each of their shoulders. “Calvin, honey, I’m going to call Louise and ask her to pop in. We need to get that eye of yours checked. For now, you two go relax. Louise likely won’t be available to come until after noon.”

To Meg’s surprise, Calvin wanted to go for a walk. She changed into her white camo cargo pants and Calvin’s rayon hoodie, and together they left the Murry home.

It was nice to be able to walk around the neighborhood without worrying that a classmate would spot them holding hands. Yet now, Meg couldn’t help but feel anxious that a classmate—or anyone, for that matter—would see Calvin’s battered face. Her boyfriend didn’t seem to share her concern, however. In fact, he seemed utterly resigned.

Meg wasn’t sure where Calvin was leading her. Turning east onto West Adams, they walked for twenty straight minutes before either of them spoke.

“I hope you don’t mind a long walk,” Calvin said quietly. They had just passed the Pizza Moon on the corner of South Western.

“I don’t mind. Where are we going?”

“Ignatius. I’m craving their iced lemon tea.”

The Ignatius Café was a small coffee shop connected to a Korean Catholic church nearly two miles from the Murry home. Some days, after school, Meg’s mother would drop them off at the café so they could spend a couple hours doing their homework in the lovely outside sitting area. Meg adored it, but the thought of going to such a public place, where Calvin’s bruises would be on full display, made her heart fly up into her throat.

She slowed to a stop. Calvin stopped too and turned to face her. He didn’t say anything.

Meg lifted their entwined hands and traced his knuckles with her free thumb. “Are you sure?”

Calvin shrugged, his eyes not meeting hers. “People are gonna see eventually. Why delay the inevitable? Besides, I’m hoping that if I, um, let people see today, I’ll stop feeling as sick about them seeing tomorrow.”

“You could say that you defended me from a mugger,” Meg suggested. “You’re so gallant that everyone would believe it.”

“I don’t wanna lie about something like that.”

“You have been lying, Cal.”

“I just mean…I don’t wanna make myself seem like some hero when I’m not.”

They started walking again. Meg linked her arm through Calvin’s. “Then say you got mugged. No heroics, no damsel in distress, just a plain old mugging. You were out for a walk and took a shortcut where you shouldn’t have. Just make sure you have a location down so you don’t stumble if anyone asks.”

Calvin managed a weak smile. “Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”

It took another twenty minutes to reach Ignatius. Thankfully, as well as surprisingly, not many people seemed to notice Calvin’s face. The only person who said anything was the elderly barista, and all she did was cluck sympathetically, say something under her breath in Korean, and tell him, “Oh, you poor dear.”

The couple sat in their usual spot in the café’s garden after getting their drinks. It was an interesting set up; a small table and three chairs sat within a small, semi-private arched nook within a wall of vines. There were a few other such nooks along the edge of the garden, but theirs was the farthest from the entrance and the most secluded. Before their relationship had been made public, they had chosen that particular table so as to reduce the risk of a classmate spotting them out on a date.

Once settled, Meg tapped her foot against Calvin’s. He responded with a tap of his own.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked him.

“Hardly at all.” Calvin rubbed his unhurt eye. “When I did manage to fall asleep, I had this awful dream about my mom.”

Meg waited patiently as he sipped his iced lemon tea and composed his thoughts.

“In it,” he started in a low voice, “her teeth were rotted from smoking, and her face was all wrinkled and—and sagging, like she’d suddenly aged fifty years. She didn’t even look like herself. Then her teeth started…falling out. Like in those anti-tobacco commercials on TV. It got to the point where she didn’t have any upper teeth left. She even had this old fashioned set of dentures that she refused to wear, and she’d leave them all over the house, just gross and slimy and stinking of cigarette smoke. I’m…I’m worried that…that’s what’s gonna happen to her.”

Classic Calvin. More concerned about others than himself, despite the fact that, since he had reeked so strongly of cigarette smoke last night, his mother had probably been smoking inside their house, which in turn meant that he could suffer the consequences of exposure to her secondhand smoke. Meg tried not to think of the blackened lungs their school would show them during anti-drug assemblies.

“I’m so sorry, Cal. How long has she been smoking?”

“Last night was the first time I’ve ever seen her smoke, but I know she was a smoker until she got pregnant with me. Dad used to bully her about it even though she’d quit. I don’t know if she’s been smoking on her trips or not. Or at her boyfriend’s place.”

Meg swirled the foam in her latte around with a thin straw. “Have you met him? Your mom’s boyfriend?”

Shaking his head, he replied, “I don’t even know his name. I don’t know how long they’ve been together, or if it’s even the same guy my dad found out about. But I don’t wanna think about all this right now, Meg.”

Calvin scooted his chair over until they were shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh. Meg’s pulse quickened.

“I don’t wanna think at all,” he whispered. He swept back a section of her curls, carding them away from her face, and pressed his lips to her jaw. Each kiss was gentle, questioning, but Meg felt in them the burning need to distract himself from his woes.

She was thankful for the privacy granted to them by the nook. It wasn’t completely private, and if someone were to walk past they would see them; still, it was enough to ease her anxiety regarding their public displays of affection. Calvin needed this right now. He needed the distraction, the loving touch, the solidarity, all of which Meg was more than willing to offer. So she pushed aside her self-consciousness, tilted her head until their lips met, and, for a while, all they did was kiss.

Before they had started dating, Meg had never known that someone could need a kiss like they might need a hug. Shows and movies and books predominantly portrayed kisses as reflections of desire, and only desire. But Meg had learned that oftentimes, a kiss was more about reassurance than longing; about giving solace, support, and ease, similar to how a squeeze of the hand could bring a warm rush of relief and comfort.

Scientifically, it made sense. According to an article she had read in _Popular Science_ , hugging and kissing both reduce the levels of cortisol, a stress hormone, that the body produces. Immediately after reading that, Meg had sought out Calvin and kissed him just to see if she would feel her stress levels decrease—and she had.

Her latte was cold by the time they separated. She stole a sip from Calvin’s tea while he rested her head on her shoulder. Five quiet minutes passed.

Finally, Calvin broke the silence. “I wonder what happened.”

“What?”

“To my mom. To make her so…”

“Uncaring?”

“Yeah. I can’t help but wonder if something happened in her past that I don’t know about, y’know? Maybe something happened that made her, like, force herself not to love anymore. Something that made her embrace the darkness.”

“You don’t think that maybe she’s just…always been mean?”

“I can’t let myself think like that. Because if she was born mean and so was my dad, then what chance do I have?”

Meg twisted in her seat. Calvin raised his head and she took hold of the lapel of his jacket. “You are not your parents, Calvin. You are _nothing_ like your parents. In the eight months we’ve known each other, you have only ever been the kindest, gentlest person I know. And you…you’ve been through enough to slip into darkness.” She touched his injured cheek, light as a feather. “Like I did after my dad disappeared. But you haven’t let yourself. You’re so strong and so full of light, my Cal. You’re a sport,” she finished with a soft smile.

Calvin didn’t say anything, but simply laid his head on Meg’s shoulder and nuzzled her neck. She rubbed his back, up and down, and felt his breath against her skin when he sighed.

* * *

“We need to try CPS again.” Alex paced across the floor, flexing his fingers. “As awful as it sounds, we caught a break when Paddy left.”

Across the lab, Kate tucked a loose curl beneath her bandana. She looked at her agitated husband, a frown curving her mouth. “Awful, but true. Though, darling, I’m not sure calling Child Protective Services is the best idea.”

Alex stopped pacing. “What? You saw what Branwen did to Calvin. When I picked him up, he smelled like a full pack of Mavericks. You know what that kind of exposure could do to him.”

“I know. But I also know that if we contact CPS before we know whether or not this is going to be a regular occurrence, it may have the same result that it did when Calvin first told Principal Jenkins. When Paddy became aware that Calvin had called the authorities, the abuse escalated. It’s even less likely that CPS will believe that Branwen is abusive since she’s a woman with a high-powered job and a steady income. Not to mention, Calvin’s outward facade is far from that of a troubled, abused child. If CPS interviews his teachers like they did the last time, their testimony will help Branwen, not Calvin. I’m concerned that they’ll see her as a single mother who has made some bad decisions but who deserves a second chance, a chance that’ll ultimately harm Calvin.”

“You’re forgetting the obvious. Calvin didn’t have _us_ last time. If we tell CPS everything, about Paddy and about Calvin living here, won’t that increase the likelihood that they’ll believe him?”

Kate straightened a stack of papers with a sigh. “Unless Branwen tells them that she knew Calvin was staying here while she was gone or that it was her plan all along. She could even tell them that Calvin got into a fight with a neighborhood boy or claim that one of us or Meg gave him his black eye. Since both Meg and Calvin now have strikes for violence on their school records, it wouldn’t be hard for them to believe.”

“Katie," Alex placed his hands flat on the metal table in the center of the lab and leaned forward, "everything you’ve said is complete speculation.”

“No, it’s conjecture based on relevant evidence. An assessment of potential risks.”

“Isn’t the risk worth the reward? We have a responsibility to Calvin, to protect him.”

“I know that," replied Kate. "All I’m saying is that contacting CPS may not be the best way to protect him. Because if CPS doesn’t help, then Branwen will know that Calvin has been staying with us and may forbid him from coming back here or spending time with Meg. She might start regularly abusing him again and he won’t have the refuge of our home. If she isolates him, Alex, then we’ve lost the battle.”

Rubbing his beard, Alex flopped into a rolling chair. A darkened computer screen sat on the table next to him and he stared at his reflection. “Look at me. I’m going grey from all this stress.”

“I like the salt-and-pepper look.”

“I’m glad one of us does.”

Kate drifted over to her husband. He pulled her onto his lap and let her comb her fingers through his hair.

“I’m so worried, Katie,” murmured Alex. “It’s eating me up. Last night, when Calvin came down from the attic after talking with Meg, he was a wreck. A complete wreck. I sat with him in his room for maybe twenty minutes, and all he did was cry. If we’re wrong about Branwen and we don’t call Child Protective Services, Calvin will suffer. But, like you said, if we do call them and they don’t believe us, then he’ll suffer worse.”

“I’m worried too, darling. I don’t _not_ want to call CPS, but after what happened last time…my faith in them is small.”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mine is too. But it’s their job to help.”

“Not everyone does their job well. Like Principal Jenkins.”

“I know, I know. Still, this shouldn’t be such a hard decision. I just wish the solution was obvious.”

Pursing her lips, Kate shook her head. “I don’t think there _is_ a perfect solution. I think we need to wait and see how Branwen adjusts to her demotion. Will it cause her to grow more aggressive toward Calvin, or will it drive her to become more distant as she focuses on work and strives to regain her position? Since Calvin is more independent than he was when he was younger, him being out of the house a lot may placate her.”

“Alright.” Alex wrapped his arms around Kate’s waist and leaned back in his chair. “Alright, let’s talk to Calvin and Meg when they come home. But Meg won’t be happy when we tell her this.”

“No, she won’t be. She’s very protective of him.”

“It’s understandable. She’s in love with him.”

Kate frowned. “They’re children, Alex. They love each other, yes, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re _in_ love.”

“You can be such a skeptic sometimes, you know that?”

“Pragmatism isn’t skepticism.”

“Mmm, I think it can be.” Alex kissed her jaw, then her neck. Her shoulders inched upwards as his beard tickled her skin. “But no matter. I’ll just have to be quixotic enough for the both of us.”

“You already are.” Kate cupped her husband’s face and kissed him on the lips. “Alex…”

“Hm?”

“Having Calvin around, it’s made me realize that…well…”

“Yeah?” When she didn’t reply, Alex searched her eyes. She almost looked nervous. “Katie, what is it?”

His wife took a deep breath and brushed her thumbs across his beard. Nearly a minute passed before she finally spoke.

“Alex…I want to adopt another kid.”

* * *

“But how can a mathematical statement be true if it can’t be proved?”

“Well, an example is Goldbach’s conjecture, which states that every even number greater than two is the sum of two prime numbers.”

Calvin pinched his lips together. “So, like how two plus two equals four, three plus five equals eight, and five plus five equals ten? And then on and on?”

“Exactly.” Meg took a sip from her cold latte. She and Calvin had been at Ignatius for a little over an hour and had slipped into casual, light-hearted conversation. “But the thing is, we can’t prove that.”

“Why not?”

“There’s several reasons. Some are more complex than others. There’s this whole thing about axioms and Peano arithmetic. But one way to think about it, I guess, is that numbers are _infinite_. There could be some number out there, past the trillions and quadrillions and quintillions, that isn’t a sum of two prime numbers. It’s also possible that past a certain point, there are _no_ prime numbers. There’s this thing called a prime gap, which is the distance between two consecutive prime numbers. I think the largest known gap is...1,476? Something like that. But, theoretically, there could be a gap spanning _billions_ , or even more. We could never count to infinity because infinity never ends. So that’s one way it’s unprovable. But so far, it hasn’t been proven to be _untrue_ , either.”

“Huh.” Meg’s legs were stretched across Calvin’s lap. He played with one of the cargo pockets near her knee, buttoning and unbuttoning the pocket’s flap. “Yeah…okay, yeah, that makes sense.” Calvin gave his girlfriend a soft smile. “Your mind is so brilliant, Meg. I doubt Ms. Russo knows anything about Gödel’s incompleteness theorems.”

“I doubt she thinks I do, either,” she replied, a touch of bitterness coloring her tone. “She thinks I’m a cheat. Just because I _get_ math and don’t have to show work.”

“What if, when you have a test or an assignment or whatever, you pretend like you’re explaining it to me? Even if you can do it in your head, you could write down the work and pretend like you’re showing me each step.”

Meg scrunched up her nose. “I dunno. It’s a good idea, but it sounds so tedious. And I don’t like the thought of having to change the way I get stuff done just to please Ms. Russo.”

“I mean, that’s a lot of life, Meg. When we eventually go to college and get jobs, our professors and bosses are gonna ask us to do things certain ways, even if we gotta go out of our way to do them. Like, I hate writing first drafts for essays. I’d rather just try and write the final draft perfectly in one go. It sucks, yeah, and it’s frustrating, but when Mr. Olivier tells us we have to write a first draft, then I write it.”

A stray curl hung in front of Meg’s eyes. Calvin reached forward and gently pulled it straight, then let it go and watched it spring back into a tight corkscrew. Meg rolled her eyes and swatted his hand away, trying and failing to hold back a smile.

“Fine,” she whined, “I’ll give it a shot.”

Her phone started ringing. She dug it out of her pocket, checked the caller ID, and answered it. “Hey, Dad. No, we’re at Ignatius. Okay…okay, sounds good. Thanks. See you. Love you too.” Hanging up, she took her legs off Calvin’s lap and stretched her arms above her head. “Dad’s gonna pick us up. He said Dr. Louise is coming in forty minutes.”

The calm that had finally settled over Calvin faded away and sadness filled his eyes. “Okay.”

“Do you not wanna go home?”

“No, no, I do. It’s just…” Calvin scratched the back of his neck. “I’d finally gotten it off my mind. Completely off. And now it’s…front and center again.”

Rubbing his shoulder, Meg asked, “I’m sorry. Can I help?”

He shook his head, gaze downcast. Meg pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek.

* * *

Once at home, the Drs. Murry sat the young couple down in the living room, their faces solemn. Dr. Alex spoke first in a low, rasping voice. “There’s something we need to tell you before Louise gets here.”

“Louise doesn’t know what happened,” Dr. Kate continued. “Since she is a medical doctor, she’s also a mandated reporter. Which means that if she has any suspicion that a child is being abused, she has to report it.”

“Isn’t that what we want, though?” Meg frowned. “Are you saying that we’re not gonna call CPS?”

“Your mother and I are wary to contact them,” said Dr. Alex slowly. “Especially after last time.”

“But his mom hurt him!”

Calvin touched Meg’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. It didn’t work. “If they didn’t believe me about my dad, why would they believe me about my mom?”

Meg was starting to get agitated. “Shouldn’t we at least try?”

“My dad hurt me after I told CPS the first time,” Calvin said in a quiet voice. “If I had called them again, I…I don’t know what he might’ve done. I’m scared to think of what he might’ve done. Calling them now on my mom might make a one-time thing a constant.” He looked up at her parents. “I don’t wanna call them.”

Meg stood. Her hands were shaking. “But what if they help this time? Are we all just gonna ignore that possibility? They’re literally called Child _Protective_ Services!”

“What then, Meg?” Calvin stood too. “I go into foster care? You’ve heard the stories. I could be placed in a home that’s ten times worse than mine.”

She didn’t answer him, but it was clear from her expression that she knew he was right. Her pleading eyes turned to her parents. “Can’t we…I don’t know, take him in permanently?”

Dr. Kate gave her a pitying frown. “What’s more likely to happen is that Calvin is sent to live with his grandparents in Sacramento or with any other relatives nearby. Family members take precedent. Even if we volunteer for guardianship, the courts would favor his family over us.”

Calvin paled. “No, no, I can’t—the O’Keefe’s, they’re all like my dad. In his family, my dad is the sport. He’s the one who actually went to school and got a good job. My uncles, his brothers, are all drunks. My aunts, my grandparents, even my cousins are all awful. An O’Keefe family reunion is more like—like a dog fight, a blood sport. And my mom doesn’t have any family anymore. Not that I know of, anyway. She’s never told me if she has siblings or not and I’ve never met them if she does.”

The Drs. Murry exchanged a somber look.

“So…” Meg’s voice trembled. “So any choice we make will hurt Calvin. No matter what.”

Trying to comfort her, Calvin took ahold of her arms. “It’s okay, Meg.”

“Don’t _say_ that!” Despite her outburst, Meg sounded more tearful than angry and she didn’t shrink away from his touch. “It’s not! None of this is okay!”

A sob stuck in the back of her throat. Calvin placed his hand behind her head and pulled her into a hug. Her shoulders shook and her hands clutched at his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Calvin murmured. “You’re right. It’s not okay. It’s scary and it sucks. But as long as I have you and your family, I know I can get through anything. And the only way to guarantee that is if we don’t call CPS. I don’t want to go into the foster system. I don’t want to go live in Sacramento with grandparents who can’t be bothered to remember my name or with uncles who spend more time wasted than sober. I want to stay where I’m loved.”

Meg whimpered. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Cal.”

Instead of replying, Calvin pressed several kisses to her temple and stroked her hair.

“We aren’t taking this lightly, Megaparsec.” Dr. Alex stood and placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “It’s a very serious situation, and we need to reestablish a few ground rules.”

His wife picked up where he left off. “First, one you already know: Calvin, if you are ever hurt in a potentially life-threatening way, call 911 first and us second. That is not up for debate. Second: Alex and I reserve the right to change our minds and contact CPS at any time. We promise you that if such a case ever arises, we will fight for guardianship. No matter where you end up, be it foster care or Sacramento or somewhere else, you can _always_ call us. You will always have a home here. Always.”

“Third,” continued Dr. Alex, “if your mother is smoking in your home, you need to call us to come pick you up. Your health and safety is our priority, son, and if we ever think that your staying in that house is more unsafe than the alternative, we will call CPS.”

Calvin swallowed hard. The thought of living in foster care or with his extended family scared him far more than the thought of continuing to live with his mother. At least staying with her meant he was only a ten-minute walk from the Murry home. But he still nodded and said, “Yes, sir. I understand.”

The doorbell rang.

* * *

Meg paced back and forth across the living room. Near the fireplace, Fortinbras lay sprawled on the floor and watched her with his big black eyes. He let out a whining yawn and rested his chin on his paws.

Her father was keeping himself busy in the lab, organizing his and her mother’s research while Dr. Louise and her mother gave Calvin a check-up in the kitchen. The wiry doctor had insisted that the children give them some space so that she could analyze Calvin’s injuries without distractions. Fifteen minutes had already passed and, with each passing second, Meg felt more and more anxious.

“Meg, please sit down.” Charles Wallace said from the couch. He closed his sketchbook and set it on the coffee table. “You’re stressing Fort out.”

“Why won’t Dr. Louise just let us in there?” Meg mumbled to herself, not even slowing down. “It can’t be that serious, right? It’s not that serious. It’s not. He’ll be fine. It’s just bruises. Just damaged capillaries. Just—”

“Meg.” Standing, Charles Wallace reached for his sister’s hand and tugged her onto the couch. “Calm down. Dr. Louise only wants some peace and quiet while she checks his eye. We both know that if you were in there, you wouldn’t stop asking questions.”

Even as he spoke, his voice sounded distant and distracted and he eyed the doorway to the kitchen. Charles Wallace always acted peculiar whenever Dr. Louise came over. He would move slower, pinch his mouth into a thin line, and squint at her like he was trying to read a distant billboard. Meg couldn’t help but wonder if he was afraid of the doctor. He never tried to avoid her, however, and she had often overheard them engaging in intelligent conversations. She had even seen him give her a drawing he had made of a long, winding snake with scales that looked more like stars.

“I’m not scared of Dr. Louise,” Charles Wallace said suddenly. “She’s a very nice lady.”

Meg looked at him in surprise, but only for a moment. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

The young boy continued. “The thing is…I can’t read her. I can tell when people have a wall up in their mind. Calvin’s good at putting one up and blocking me out sometimes, too. I think that’s because he’s spent so long hiding how he really feels from everyone. You and Mommy are easy to read. Daddy’s harder, but I’m figuring him out. Making up for lost time.”

“So Dr. Louise blocks you out?” Meg used to doubt her little brother’s highly-intuitive abilities, but after their quest, telepathy no longer seemed like such an improbable feat.

“Yes. I don’t think she’s hiding anything, but it can be frustrating. It’s like…when you’re listening to music through headphones and one side goes out.”

Meg shifted in her seat and asked, “What, um…what are you reading from Calvin?”

Charles Wallace looked her straight in the eyes. “You tell me.”

“I’m not like you,” she insisted, but her brother shook his head.

“You’re more like me than you think. Both of you. I know you guys have connected before.”

The way he said _connected_ made Meg blush. “I—I don’t—we haven’t—”

Charles Wallace cocked his head. “Why are you turning red?”

“No reason! Don’t read my mind right now,” she added quickly. “I mean it. Just—what do you mean by ‘connected’?”

“Have you ever felt like something was wrong with Calvin, and then the next time you see him something _is_ wrong?”

Meg opened her mouth to say no, but before she could speak a memory came to her.

The night Calvin’s father had left, she had awoken suddenly from a restless sleep. Normally when that happened it was because of a nightmare, but she hadn’t been dreaming and couldn’t figure out what had woken her. All she had known was that something felt off. Half-asleep, groggy, and annoyed, Meg had finally decided to go downstairs to make herself some cocoa, only to discover Calvin crying on the couch with her parents. 

Then, another memory replaced the first. The day Elle had broken her locket, Calvin had said something odd. Meg had been too emotional to dwell on it then, but now…

_Meg!_ he had said. _Is everything okay? I didn’t see you on the field, and then I thought I felt—Oh, no._

_I thought I felt…_

Was that why Calvin had gone to find her? Had he felt that something was wrong, like she had the night his father had left? And was that how, when Calvin had called her the day before Thanksgiving, they had somehow shared the same exact memory at the exact same time?

“See, I told you,” Charles Wallace said triumphantly. He must’ve seen realization fill her eyes. “You’re connected.”

Meg bit her lip, feeling a mite overwhelmed. “But how? I don’t think I’ve ever done it intentionally.”

“You have. I’ve felt it. The night Calvin slept in the guest room for the first time, after you and he got his stuff from his house. You reached out and connected with him then because you wanted to comfort him. I could feel the memories you showed him. Well, some of them. The ones I’ve shared with you. The aquarium, the beach, our first pajama party.”

She gawked at him. He smiled.

“Calvin’s already figured all this out, but I don’t think he knows how to do it intentionally yet. Practice makes perfect, though. I have faith that you’ll both learn one day. You just need a Teacher.”

Before Meg could ask what Charles Wallace meant, Dr. Louise walked into the living room with Calvin on her heels. He had a hot pack against his face.

“Other than some nasty bruising around his orbital bone, Calvin has no damage to his eye,” said Dr. Louise. “The bruises will go away completely in about two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Meg frowned. “That long?”

Dr. Louise nodded, then patted Calvin’s arm. “Guess now you know not to cut through a McDonald's parking lot after 8 PM, huh?”

She bent her head to dig through her satchel. Meg met Calvin’s gaze, raised an eyebrow, and mouthed, _McDonald's?_

He rolled his eyes—well, eye—and shrugged self-consciously. Meg wanted to smile, but her heart still felt heavy.

“Ah.” Dr. Louise pulled something out of her satchel pocket. “Here we go.” She handed Calvin a red lollipop. “That’s for being a good patient.”

This time, Meg couldn’t help but smile. She covered her mouth and tried in vain to stifle a snort.

Calvin took the lollipop, then pointed it at Meg. “You’re just jealous that you’re not getting one.”

“Hopelessly jealous.” She beckoned him over. Crossing the living room, he sat beside her and made a big show of tearing off the lollipop’s wrapper and popping it in his mouth. But to do so he had to set down his hot pack, and when he did Meg’s thoughts were once again drawn to his hideous bruises.

Calvin noticed her smile fade. He chucked her lightly under her chin and said, “Hey. You heard Dr. Louise. I’m okay.”

“I just hate that every time I look at you, I’m reminded of what—” Meg caught herself, remembering that Dr. Louise was still in the room. “—what that…that mugger did to you.”

“Be thankful that he didn’t have a weapon on him,” Dr. Louise said. “A knife or a gun would’ve made the situation far worse.”

Meg’s throat burned and her chest grew as painfully tight as a rope stretched to the point of snapping. She turned her head away from Dr. Louise so that the older women couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.

Immediately Charles Wallace spoke up. “Let’s go tell my parents the good news, Dr. Louise. They’re in the lab. Also, I’d like to tell you about the book on invertebrates Daddy read to me the other night.”

“Invertebrates! Why, your vocabulary is becoming quite expansive, Charles. I’d love to hear about it.”

The young boy patted his sister’s head before leaving. Once alone, Calvin rewrapped the lollipop, set it aside, and scooted closer to Meg.

“Are you okay?”

The burning in her throat made it impossible to talk; she shook her head instead.

Calvin cupped her face and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Meg shook her head again. What more could she say that they hadn’t already discussed? 

“How about some TV? To try and take our minds off it all?”

She nodded.

Taking off her glasses for a moment, Calvin lightly kissed her eyes and cheeks before finally and briefly pressing his lips to hers. “Okay. I think Charles Wallace recorded some _Mythbusters_ the other day. Does that sound good? Or do you wanna watch something else?”

“ _Mythbusters_ sounds good,” whispered Meg, her voice scratching with the effort of holding back tears.

Calvin rattled off another string of questions—“Do you want any food?”, “What about a soda or some lemonade?”, “Do you want me to get your favorite blanket? The purple one?”—and Meg did her best to reply to each without crying. She loved it when he doted on her like this, and she knew that it helped him distract himself from his woes and made him feel like he was being helpful and productive.

Twenty minutes later, Meg was wrapped in her favorite sherpa fleece blanket, fuzzy socks on her feet and two glasses of water on the coffee table. Calvin’s head rested on her lap; he’d fallen asleep not long after they had turned on the TV. She made sure to keep the hot pack pressed to his injured cheek, partly so that she wouldn’t have to look at it. Every so often she would comb her fingers through his hair.

The adults came into the living room toward the end of an episode about cooking lasagna in a dishwasher. With a gentle smile and a wave, Dr. Louise left through the front door. Immediately after the door closed, Meg’s mother crouched next to the couch and checked Calvin’s bruises.

“How’s he doing?”

“He…he’s stressed. But you know how he doesn’t like to focus on stuff like this for very long. He’s been trying to distract himself all day, thinking about everything and everyone but himself.”

“How are you?”

Meg closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep it from quivering. “Not so good.”

Her mother squeezed her hand and waited expectantly.

Struggling to keep a sob at bay, Meg covered her mouth with her hand. Finally, she confessed in a tearful, whispering voice, “I love him, Mom. I love him _so much_. I just—I _hate_ this! I hate seeing him in pain. I just wish he could stay here and never go back. He doesn’t deserve all this hurt. Why can’t his mother love him like we do? Why can’t she see how wonderful he is?”

“Oh, baby.” Pity filled her mother’s eyes as she kissed her daughter’s forehead.

Meg’s father sat on the couch’s armrest, rubbing her shoulder. “Some people don’t have the capacity for empathy, Meglet. Some people didn’t have a positive parental influence in their life and they don’t have any other reference to go off of other than their own negative experience. They do unto others what was done to them.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right of them,” her mom added quickly. “There’s absolutely no excuse. But that may be why Calvin’s parents treat him poorly.”

Tears fell down Meg’s cheeks. She wiped them away with the heel of her palm. “Thank you. For—for being so welcoming of him and taking him in and—and loving him. I know he’s thanked you before but I never have and I—I—”

"We know, Meg," her mom assured her with a gentle smile. "As scary as all of this has been, having Calvin in our home and in our lives has truly been such a blessing."

Meg's father echoed his wife's sentiment, then pushed Meg's glasses up farther on her nose. “Hey, how about I pop over to Koreatown and get some dinner, okay? Maybe I’ll even manage to bring back some walnut cakes. Calvin likes pork bulgogi, right?”

“Beef bulgogi, no onions. Extra kimchi for me, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Her mother took Charles Wallace out to the backyard to tend to the garden while her father left to grab dinner. Half an episode of _Mythbusters_ later, Meg felt Calvin’s breathing shift and saw his nose twitch. His eyes stayed closed, but he wasn’t fooling her.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I know you’re awake.”

He opened his eyes and gazed drowsily at her. “Mmm.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired. You?”

“Same.”

“Then…” Calvin sat up, shifted until he was between Meg and the back of the sofa, and tugged her blanket over him. “C’mere.”

Smiling softly, Meg took off her glasses and adjusted her position so that both she and Calvin could lie down side-by-side on the sofa. Both faced the TV, on which _Mythbusters_ still played. Calvin’s arms curled around Meg’s waist and he pressed his nose against her neck.

“I might’ve actually been able to sleep last night if I could’ve stayed in the attic with you,” he murmured, his voice dampened by her hair. “I like sleeping with you.”

Meg felt a blush overtake her cheeks.

“…That came out wrong,” Calvin admitted sheepishly. "I just meant that I…I sleep best when we…um…"

“I know what you mean.” She twisted in his arms so she could see his face. “It’s the same for me. It’s like you said last night: I feel safe with you. Always.”

They rested their foreheads together, their noses touching. One of Meg’s hands was tucked under the throw pillow that their heads rested on and she placed the other on the curve of Calvin’s neck, where it met his shoulder.

His breath tickled her skin when he sighed. “I’d stay here forever if I could, you know that, right?”

Meg nodded, her eyes half-closed.

“Your dad says that I’m probably gonna hit six feet by the end of the year.”

“Yeah, I know. What about it?”

“Well, I’ve, um, done some reading online, and…some abuse survivors say that once they grew bigger than their abusive parent, the physical abuse stopped because they could overpower their abuser.”

Her eyes flickered open. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying that if it does happen again, I don’t think it’ll last much longer.” Calvin rubbed her back slowly. “I think I’ll be safe soon. Completely safe.”

The threat of tears crept back up on Meg and she tried to swallow it away. “I wanna believe that, Cal. But…I’m still so scared. What Dr. Louise said earlier, about knives and guns…what if your mom goes after you with a knife? Like, you’re in the kitchen and she’s chopping up food and something happens that makes her mad and she—”

“Hey, hey…” Calvin’s hand stopped moving in circles and stilled; a moment later, his thumb started stroking her shoulder blade. “Listen to me. I don’t think that’ll ever happen, but even if there’s the slightest chance that it will, I won’t let myself get into that situation, okay? I promise that if I see my mom holding a knife, even if it’s just to open a letter, I’ll lock myself in my room until I’m sure the coast is clear.”

“Better safe than sorry,” whispered Meg. The smell of eucalyptus encircled her like a blanket, like Calvin’s arms, and she snuggled closer to him, her hand sliding up from his neck to tangle in his hair.

“My Meg...” Calvin’s voice was low and scratchy, either with emotion or with sleepiness, or perhaps both. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I know you can’t say the same, ‘cause of finding your dad and saving Charles Wallace, and I don’t expect you to—”

Meg pressed her lips to his, effectively hushing him up. As the kiss deepened, their embrace tightened.

“My Cal,” Meg said when she drew away, “aside from those two unfathomably incomparable things, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too.”

When he smiled, she could feel it against her cheek.

It didn’t take long for Calvin to drift off again. Meg studied his face as he slept, from the freckles dotting his nose and cheeks to his thin, light-colored eyelashes to his soft pink lips, all the while forcing herself to ignore the bruises on the left side of his face.

How could anyone strike such a beautiful, kind face? What kind of satisfaction could someone get out of hurting someone whose smile could kindle a thousand suns?

As her eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep, Meg placed one final, soft kiss to Calvin’s forehead.

* * *

Mrs. O'Keefe didn't come home until early Sunday afternoon. As such, Calvin spent half of Sunday seeking sanctuary at the Murry home and the other half locked in his bedroom at the O’Keefe house. His bruises had barely lightened, though he could open his battered eye a little wider than he had been able to the day before. When Monday rolled around—far, far too rapidly for comfort—Calvin walked to the Murrys’ for breakfast as per usual, but he spent more time pushing his diced strawberries around his plate than eating. Before taking the kids to school, Meg’s parents both gave him long, tight hugs.

The drive to school was excruciating. Meg, who usually sat in the front seat with her mother, squeezed between Charles Wallace’s booster seat and Calvin in the backseat so she could hold her boyfriend’s hand. Neither spoke the whole ten minutes. Jazz radio filled the silence.

Once in the parking lot, Charles Wallace kissed Calvin’s blemish-free cheek before going to kindergarten. There was a sadness in the young boy’s eyes that knotted Meg’s stomach; it was like he knew something they did not.

It took Calvin three minutes to climb out of the Murry’s Subaru. Eyes closed, he clutched his backpack to his stomach and tried to steady his breathing while Meg rubbed his back and spoke quiet comforts. Her mother got out and opened his door.

“Honey,” she began softly, “you don’t have to go today. I’ll take you back to our house if you want.”

Calvin opened his eyes and shook his head. “I…I can’t avoid going to school for two weeks. I need to get this over with. But thank you.”

Meg’s mom smoothed his hair away from his forehead, nodding. “Don’t be afraid to call if you change your mind, alright?”

“Thank you.”

As bad luck would have it, the couple didn't make it ten feet inside the middle school building before running into Jaime, Veronica, Deandre, and Hunter Moretti, a tall, thick-boned, black-haired member of Calvin's basketball team. Jaime moved forward to greet Calvin, but the moment he saw his best friend’s bruises, his jaw dropped open.

“Calvin, _Dios mío_ , _¿qué pasó?_ ”

“You look like hell!” Hunter exclaimed, his wintry-blue eyes the size of saucers. “Did you get in a fight?”

Calvin looked to Meg; to anyone else, his face might’ve appeared calm, but his lips were pursed together and his jaw was tense with panic. She gave him a tiny, encouraging nod and he closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and saying, “I…I got mugged.”

Their classmates erupted in response.

“You got _what_?”

“By who?”

“Are you okay?”

Jaime’s voice rose above the rest. “Did you report it?”

“I…” Calvin blinked. “No.”

“ _Broki_ , why didn’t you? You know my papá’s a cop, he’d help you in a heartbeat! Where did it happen? And what did the guy steal? I’ll text my papá right now.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Calvin tried to deflect by saying, “I thought your father works in the narcotics division?”

“He does, but he’s got buddies in RHD. So what did the guy take?”

Even though they’d spent yesterday rehearsing what he’d tell everyone, Meg could see that Calvin was starting to crumble from the pressure. His friends had never pried like this before; they had never had reason to. But he couldn’t hide his shiner like he’d been able to hide the scar on his stomach. 

Meg threaded her fingers through his and rested her other hand on his arm. Calvin relaxed at her touch, but only a little.

“He stole my, uh—my money clip, the one my grandpa gave me,” Calvin lied, his tone more even than it had been a minute earlier. He didn’t have a money clip and his grandfather had never given him anything in his life, but yesterday he’d suggested to Meg that adding in a specific detail like that would make the story more believable. “It only had, like, twenty bucks in it. I didn’t have my wallet on me, ‘cause I don’t like carrying more money on me than I need. And I’d forgotten my phone at Meg’s house earlier, so thankfully he couldn’t steal that either. But you really don’t have to bother your dad. I’m fine.”

Jaime already had his phone in his hands and was typing away. Meg felt Calvin flinch when his friend hit _Send_. “No, keep going. Where’d this happen?”

“I took a shortcut through the McDonald’s parking lot on Crenshaw. The—the one next to Taco Bell, not the one by 7-Eleven.”

“What’d he look like?”

“It all happened so fast and it was pretty dark, I really didn’t a good look—”

“Could you tell what race he was? How big he was, hair color?”

Calvin had only intended to keep the description of his so-called mugger vague, but Jaime’s expression was so earnestly distressed and his offer to help so sincere that Meg could feel her boyfriend growing more and more panicked. “Oh, um, well…he was this big white guy. Broad shoulders, reddish-brown beard—”

Meg couldn’t help but take a quick intake of breath through her nose when she realized what he was—unconsciously, most likely—doing. She squeezed his hand hard and he cut out in the middle of his sentence. Glancing inquisitively at Meg, Calvin searched her face for some clue as to why she had stopped him. Then, horror flooded the blue of his eyes.

He had been describing his father.

* * *

Dread bit at the back of Veronica’s throat and burned through her stomach like acid. The bloated purple skin surrounding Calvin’s eye made the basketball star look like a completely different person. But it wasn’t just his black eye; as he stood before her, everything about Calvin felt _wrong_ —his posture, his voice, the look in his eyes. A second ago, he had been describing his attacker, but now his face was ashen and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed.

“E-Excuse me,” Calvin stammered. Dropping Meg’s hand, he took off down the hallway toward the bathroom. Deandre leaned over and whispered something to Jaime, clearly concerned, and Jaime looked at Meg with wide, bewildered eyes.

Meg’s hands were quivering and she crossed her arms over her middle. Her eyes followed Calvin as he maneuvered through the crowded hallway. “He’s…uh…still pretty shaken up about it. Talking about it makes it worse. I’m, um…gonna go see if he’s okay.”

With that, she hurried after her boyfriend. Immediately Deandre swung around to face the others. “I’m gonna go check on him, too. He looked like he was gonna be sick.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Hunter.

The two boys ran off to find Calvin, leaving Jaime and Veronica alone.

Veronica’s mind was racing. There was no way in hell a mugger had done that to him. Too many things didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t Calvin have called 911? Veronica didn’t believe that he hadn’t had his phone on him at the time. No one walks alone through South LA without their phone; it was safer and smarter to turn around and go fetch it, no matter the distance, in order to have a lifeline in case of trouble. Even if, for some bizarre reason, he truly hadn’t had his phone on him, he still could’ve called 911 from home or even from McDonald's itself.

It was also strange that he would've been walking through a McDonald's parking lot at that time of night. The only explanation that Veronica could think of was that he had gone to pick up a late-evening snack, except Calvin’s own words didn’t paint that picture. He’d said that he’d taken a shortcut through the parking lot, not that he had stopped there to eat.

But if not a mugger, then who? The first suspect that popped into Veronica’s mind was Tristan—though, if it had been any of their classmates, Calvin would’ve said so. There wasn’t any reason for him to lie about that.

For the briefest moment, Veronica wondered if it could’ve been Meg. Then shame slammed her heart against her ribs. How could she even entertain that possibly? Sure, Meg had struck her in the face with a basketball, but that had been fueled by pent-up pain and anger from years of bullying. Meg would never hurt Calvin like this. Veronica was certain of it.

So the only explanation was that a mugger had indeed assaulted Calvin, unless it was his—

— _Oh._

Terror sent an icy shock down Veronica’s spine. No, no, no—it had to be someone else, it couldn’t be his—

“Veronica?” Jaime’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts. He touched the small of her back, eyebrows pinched together in worry. “The bell rang. Didn’t you hear it?”

Veronica was still reeling from her revelation, so much so that she could only give him a dazed shake of her head.

“Are you okay?You look really pale.”

She had to tell Jaime. He was Calvin’s best friend, he had to know—except she didn’t even know, not for sure. This was all still speculation. If she told Jaime, he’d tell his father, and then the police would get involved, and if her theory was wrong, then she could ruin Calvin’s life. She couldn’t regress back to her old, rumor-spreading ways. She needed proof. Concrete, undeniable proof.

“Earth to Juliet?” Jaime waved his hand in front of Veronica’s face, causing her to jump.

“Huh? Sorry, what?”

“Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse?”

“Oh, um, no, no—sorry, I just can’t wrap my mind around what happened to Calvin. I mean…” Veronica fumbled for an excuse. “…I…it’s just, I’ve been to that McDonald’s before, and to think that it could’ve happened to me—or you…”

A sympathetic frown tugged at Jaime’s mouth and he opened his mouth to say something, but the guilt of lying to him was cutting through Veronica and she knew that if he tried to comfort her she’d break. So before he could speak, she took his hand and started leading him toward the algebra classroom.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make us late—”

“It’s okay, we’re not late yet.”

“—I just got so in my head, and I didn't realize—”

“Babe, _espérame_.” Jaime stepped in front of her and stopped. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Even though they’d been dating for three weeks, Veronica hadn’t yet gotten used to him calling her that. She softened under his concerned gaze, sighed, and ducked her head. “…No. But I don’t really wanna talk about it, if that’s alright. If I talk about it, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it, and I think I’m blowing things out of proportion anyway.”

“Okay,” conceded Jaime, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you change your mind, I’m here.” 

“Thank you.” Veronica peeked around the hallway to make sure there were no teachers in eyeshot, then gave him a quick peck. “Now, I'd really rather not be tardy.”

She and Jaime got to class on time—but Calvin, Meg, Deandre, and Hunter did not. Fifteen minutes into first period they finally arrived, handing late passes from the nurse’s office to Ms. Russo. Calvin shuffled sluggishly to his seat, his eyes unfocused and expression disoriented. Whispers shivered throughout the room when their classmates saw his injured face.

Hunter slid into the seat behind Veronica and next to Jaime, who leaned across the aisle and whispered, “Ay, what happened? Is Calvin okay?”

“He threw up in the bathroom,” the basketball player replied. “We took him to the nurse, but he didn’t want her to send him home or call his parents. Apparently he took Advil on an empty stomach earlier and he thinks that’s why he got sick.” 

The fact that Calvin hadn’t wanted the nurse to call his parents raised goosebumps along Veronica’s arms. Her eyes darted across the classroom to where Calvin sat in front of Meg. Luckily for him, the couple sat on the farthest left row, hiding his bruises from the majority of the class. Calvin was slumped in his chair and, while Veronica watched, Meg reached forward and massaged the back of her boyfriend’s neck.

Meg must know. No, scratch that—the Murrys as a whole must know. Why else would Calvin spend such an incredible amount of time at their home, far more than the average boyfriend? Why else would he and Meg have acted so weird about the guest bedroom, and why else would the Murrys have five toothbrushes in their medicine cabinet instead of four? But even as certainty started to plant itself Veronica’s mind, doubts crept in to uproot it. If the Drs. Murry were aware of Calvin’s situation, why hadn’t they called the police? And an extra toothbrush wasn’t proof of anything; it was entirely possible that one of the toothbrushes was old and they simply hadn’t bothered to throw it away yet. She couldn’t think of an explanation for the guest bedroom beyond something rather scandalous that she couldn’t imagine Calvin and Meg doing across the hall from her little brother’s room.

Veronica tore her eyes away from the couple and tried to focus on Ms. Russo’s lecture on slope-intercept equations. Until she had conclusive evidence that Calvin was being abused, all she could do was hope to the heavens that her suspicions were wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥︎


End file.
